


shadows like these

by elithewho



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Law & Order: SVU
Genre: Alternate Universe - Buffy The Vampire Slayer Fusion, Alternate Universe - Priests, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Alternate Universe - Victorian, Angst, Barely Legal, Blood Drinking, Blood Kink, Car Sex, Crack, Drunkenness, F/M, Finger Sucking, First Time, Hand Jobs, Loss of Virginity, Marriage of Convenience, Religious Guilt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-14
Updated: 2015-04-27
Packaged: 2018-03-22 19:51:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3741490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elithewho/pseuds/elithewho
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of random and cracked out barollins aus, with Mountain Goats lyrics.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. sleep like dead men, wake up like dead men

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this AU where Barba is a priest for Morgan because we both love Barba and we both love priests.

It was past eleven when Barba finally arrived home. He’d been up since before six, preparing his sermons, delivering his sermons, taking hour after hour of confession, presiding over a few baptisms, and then to the church basement in the evening to run the support groups for various addictions, grieving parents, war veterans, the list went on. He was exhausted. A bone deep fatigue that nearly had him nodding off on his way home.

So when he heard his phone ring in his pocket, he almost ignored it. He almost let it go to voicemail because he just couldn’t handle one more person needing something from him. But after letting two rings pass without answering he knew he couldn’t do that. He had a responsibility.

The caller ID told him it was Amanda Rollins. Now he really had to answer it. Anyone in the support groups would be calling him at this hour for only one reason.

“Father Barba,” he said as he answered, trying not to sound as tired as he felt.

“Hey, Father, it’s… Amanda,” she said, a bit hesitantly, it seemed. In his experience, cops never felt comfortable calling themselves by their first names.

“What can I do for you, Amanda?” he said, gently as he could.

“Oh… I don’t know… Am I bothering you? It… might not be a big deal…” she said, sounding slightly slurred. She sounded drunk. Barba was instantly more alert. Alcohol wasn’t her vice of choice, but if she was calling him drunk at nearly midnight, then it certainly wasn’t a good sign.

“Amanda, Amanda, its fine, tell me what’s wrong,” he said.

He heard her sigh deeply and he thought he heard sniffling, like she had been crying.

“I don’t know,” she repeated, sounding closer to the edge of tears. “I’m not… I don’t think…”

“Where are you?” he said firmly.

She gave him the name of some sports bar a block from the church. He didn’t like the sound of that.

“I’ll come get you, stay there,” he said at once, already grabbing his keys off the table where he dropped them moments earlier.

“No, no, you don’t have to,” she said immediately, but he talked over her protests.

“It’s late and you need someone to talk to, I’m leaving now,” he said brusquely. 

She was quiet except for a soft sigh. He could hear traffic in the background; she was clearly outside the bar. He could picture her standing on the curb, maybe swaying on the spot, looking vulnerable. He knew she could look after herself, but she clearly wasn’t in a good state emotionally. She was reaching out to him. He had to be there for her.

Barba caught a glimpse of himself in the hallway mirror before he left. The greying stubble on his jaw made him look ancient. His black shirt and dress pants were slightly rumpled from being worn all day. Barba tried not to be vain, but he couldn’t help it. He didn’t like not looking his best. But it didn’t matter now. He tried to smooth down his hair a little was on his way.

He found Amanda standing on the curb where she said she’d be. She had her arms wrapped so tightly around herself that he knew it wasn’t entirely from the cold. When he pulled up, she offered him a quivering, half-hearted smile. As she climbed in, he saw that she was shaking. Only slightly, but he noticed it all the same.

“What’s going on, Amanda?” he said seriously.

She winced, still holding herself tightly, and shook her head. Barba sighed and looked around at the street with drunks pouring out of every bar front. 

“Let’s go somewhere quiet,” he said.

Amanda stayed silent for most of the car ride. He thought he detected a sniffle or two, but he didn’t want to press her. Not yet.

The church was dark and empty at this hour. Barba tried not to think about how he’d have to be there at 6:30 the next morning. He didn’t bother venturing into the dark basement with its fluorescent lights and rows of cheap folding chairs. Instead he led her to his office. It was a little cozier there, at least.

“What’s wrong, Amanda?” he said gently, leading her to sit beside him on the couch.

She sniffed and didn’t answer, looking at her shoes. In this light, he could see how red rimmed and blurry her eyes looked. She had been stumbling a little as they walked down the hall.

“It’s just… a lot of things, I guess,” she finally said. “This case… the victim…” Her face crumbled and her shook her head, trying to push down whatever she was feeling.

“It’s very difficult, doing what you do,” he said slowly, knowing how hollow that must sound. Barba wasn’t exactly the warmest and most welcoming of clergy, he didn’t have a reputation for being the one to confide in. He had to wonder why she called him, and not say, her sponsor.

Amanda breathed out deeply through her nose, squeezing her eyes shut. She was clearly on the brink of tears and trying not to let it out. If there was one thing Barba knew, it was that repressing those kinds of emotions wasn’t healthy. 

He reached out and grasped her shoulder. She tensed at first, involuntarily, and he felt a twinge of guilt. But she relaxed, sighed again, a bit softer, and leaned toward him. Barba wrapped his arm around her shoulder, pulling her closer. She sagged toward him, her face crumbling. When the first sobs rose in her throat, she buried her face in his chest. Barba just let her cry, patting her back soothingly. She smelled like a bar, but under the liquor and stale cigarettes he could smell her hair. He sighed, breathing in. It wasn’t often he got to hold someone. He wasn’t close, really close, to many people. And his celibacy, well… it didn’t make him blind. Amanda was attractive, very attractive and he had tried not to notice that. Now she was in his arms. It shouldn’t have meant anything, since she was drunk and upset and crying, but somehow it did.

Once she had cried herself out, Amanda lifted her head, still avoiding his eyes. Barba fished a handkerchief out of his pocket and handed it to her. As she mopped the tears off her face, Barba realized he hadn’t released her shoulder. Awkwardly, he tried to pull his arm back, feeling a slight flush in his cheeks. He was exhausted. He couldn’t think straight. She was very warm, and soft.

As he tried to pull away, Amanda stopped him. She grabbed his arm and kept it around her shoulder, leaning her head back onto his shoulder. Barba swallowed thickly. There was a damp patch on his shirt, stained by her tears.

“Amanda,” he said in a low voice, hoping it didn’t sound too strained. “Things feel dark now, they feel hopeless, but that won’t always be the case…”

Barba trailed off, unable to finish when he felt her fingers lightly trace the skin on his hand still draped over her shoulder. It was soft, innocent even, but Barba still felt his hand tingle with her touch. Her hand encircled his wrist, squeezing lightly. Barba told himself to pull away.

He was so tired. He wanted to fall against her shoulder and fall asleep. Her touch was mesmerizing him, making him nearly fall into a doze. He felt strands of her hair brush his wrist as she shifted, tucking herself closing to him, turning her body so that she could wrap an arm around his torso. She wanted comfort, that was clear. Barba had to wonder how long she had gone without a real, proper hug. She was physically withdrawn in the support group meetings, sharing her feelings but not reaching out for physical contact. He felt guilt churn in his stomach. He was enjoying this far too much, holding her in his arms.

At least he thought that’s what she was after, an innocent cuddle. Barba felt like he could fall asleep with her warm body next to hers, but when he felt her mouth against his neck, he jerked up straighter, suddenly much more awake. Amanda was stroking the hair on the back of his neck and kissing him softly just above his collar. It felt like little electric shocks.

“What are you doing?” he said sharply, alarmed not just by her behavior, but because he still wasn’t pulling away.

Amanda didn’t answer, she just pulled him tighter against her. She felt so warm, almost fluid, like he could meld himself around her. _He had to stop this_. She kissed his jaw.

“Amanda…” he said, trying to be firm. It sounded weak to his own ears. “Aman-“

His protest was cut off sharply with a loud gasp as her hand dropped to his crotch. He hadn’t pulled away yet. He had to, he had to stop this before it went any further. But her hand was warm and insistent squeezing his half hard erection through his pants, rubbing it slowly. It felt so good, Barba clasped her shoulder and tried not to thrust into her hand. With his head fallen back against the couch, he could close his eyes and pretend this wasn’t happening. He could just enjoy it and not face any consequences when he opened his eyes.

He could feel Amanda’s breath against his neck, hot and humid. He was starting to pant, her warm hand working him to full hardness. He felt her hand slide up his crotch and fumble with his belt. It was slow going, she could barely work the buckle open one handed and Barba’s own hand twitched, wanting desperately to help her, to feel her hand against his skin, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. It made him feel too culpable, too active in what was happening. If he just lay there and _felt_ , it was almost like he wasn’t doing anything wrong.

But, eventually, she pried the buckle free and slid down the zipper. Barba swallowed hard, fighting back a moan as her hand slipped into his briefs. He had never actually gone this far with anyone. He was chaste, he kept himself pure, whatever that meant. He followed the rules. So he felt like a monster when she rubbed her thumb over the slick head and he moaned weakly, his hand slipping up her shoulder to cup the side of her head, silky strands of hair brushing his fingers.

Barba was breathing hard, his breath hitching, trying to stop his hands from tensing and squeezing as she stroked him. It was an uneven, frustratingly slow rhythm but he couldn’t vocalize anything, couldn’t tell her to go faster or squeeze tighter because he wasn’t supposed to be doing this at all. This was the worst possible thing he could be doing, taking advantage of her, drunk, vulnerable and sad. Her fist tightened over his head suddenly and Barba grunted, his hips rising off the couch despite himself. He felt her exhale against his neck, almost like a breathy laugh. His head was spinning. He couldn’t focus on anything but her hand and its constant, teasing motion. 

He felt her hot breath on his neck, making his collar damp against his skin, but then she shifted, her mouth pressed against his ear. He could hear her labored breathing now, the volume turned up so high he couldn’t hear anything else. Her lips grazed his ear, making him shiver. He felt her tongue, very lightly, tease the edge of his lobe and he felt a high, breathy moan escape his throat. 

Her hand was slow, almost clumsy, but Barba was still close, the pleasure building in his groin so tightly he couldn’t help the little needy lurches of his hips. He heard himself whine, unable to bite it back and his embarrassment and guilt felt like hot knives in his gut. But they didn’t diminish the pleasure, not even a little bit, not when he felt her teeth nibble his ear, so lightly, a brief little tug. 

“You like that, Father?” she whispered, low and soft, and Barba came with a shuddering gasp, hot come splattering the front of his shirt as his hips jerked spasmodically.

Barba let his head fall back again, feeling emptier than he had in a long time. He felt Amanda tuck him back in his pants and clumsily zip him up again, but he still felt sticky and damp, uncomfortably sweaty in all his clothes. He couldn’t bring himself to look at her. He wanted to apologize, he wanted to beg for her forgiveness, but he couldn’t look at her. He couldn’t face the evidence of what he’d done.

“Shit,” he heard her mutter as she pulled away.

Barba inclined his head, finally finding the courage to look at her. Her eyes, still red and swollen, were squeezed shut. When she opened them, they were shining with wetness, but hard.

“Now I ruined you too,” she said bitterly and stood up, quick and unsteady.

“Amanda, wait,” Barba managed to croak. He couldn’t bear to hear her blame herself.

“I’m getting a cab,” she said shortly. “Thanks for everything. Father.” And she was gone.

Barba wanted to run after her, but the look in her eyes had cut him deep. So must disgust and anger. How much was towards herself, and how much towards him? He couldn’t stand anymore hatred, not when the self-loathing was rising so strong inside him. Barba stayed on the couch, in his office, head in his hands. What had he done?


	2. goddamn these vampires

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I had a dream that Rollins was the slayer and Barba was her watcher and it was basically the greatest dream.

He liked watching her fight. The determined look on her face when an enemy rose before her, looming over her small form. The way she smirked whenever they bared their fangs, hissed or roared, tried to scare her, like she was some helpless child. How easily she dealt with an enemy that should have pulverized her. How her strength, agility and reflexes made her into a weapon. 

At first he wanted to think it was admiration, and a little awe. Because as much as he had studied the slayer, nothing could prepare him for the real flesh and blood girl. For how small and weak she looked and how powerful she really was. Her youthfulness had alarmed him at first, her pale face, skinny legs, nearly out of adolescence to be sure, but still _a girl_. A young woman if he was saying it to her face. All of it was hiding what was underneath, her strength and power that still surprised him.

“I’m not a kid, Barba,” she often said and he knew that, he knew she meant it in a number of different ways. She wasn’t helpless. She was currently thrashing a man twice her size, throwing him over a headstone while barely breaking a sweat. Not a man though, not anymore.

And she didn’t look like a girl now, the frayed edges of her cutoffs revealing her thigh muscles, straining as she kicked the thing in the chest, sending it sprawling. The boyish cut of her plaid shirt couldn’t conceal the strong, firm lines of her body as she leapt on the creature, drove a stake through its chest and smiling in triumph as it exploded into dust.

She straightened up, still grinning, dusting herself off and adjusting her ponytail. She looked so cocky he wanted to chide her for being arrogant.

“Good work, Amanda,” he said anyway, just like every night. She glowed at the praise, shaking out her shirt to dislodge the remaining dust. But her smile changed, her eyes lowering as she twisted a pale lock of hair around her finger.

He knew what that grin meant and a part of him wanted it to be too late, for him to have to drive her home and then go back to his lonely bachelor’s apartment to jerk off in the shower like he used to. But there was a stronger part of him that was itching, from the moment she began to fight, to be in the back seat of that car with her.

It was more than an itch. It was a burning hunger, under his skin, in his bones. It made his hands shake as he loaded the weapons back into the gym bag and into the trunk. She was waiting for him in the back seat, putting on lip gloss. The sight was disturbing juvenile and he didn’t want to think about her being a teenager, barely legal, his own _student_ , he wanted her powerful and deadly and without mercy.

He fell between her legs anyway, with an eagerness that embarrassed him. He felt her thighs tense around him, a latent strength that excited him so much his breath caught in his throat. She smelled like graveyard dirt, like desiccated vampire, like death, like her profession, but underneath it he could still smell her sweat, her sweetly youthful perfume, and he kissed her neck, reverently. 

She sighed, softly, impatiently, and pushed against his shoulders. He complied shakily, letting her roll him over as she pushed down her shorts and underwear, so quick to get to the point. He knew the adrenaline was still pumping through her veins, making her nerves buzz, her skin burn and he could see a lovely pink flush extend down her chest, into her bra as he plucked open the buttons of her shirt to touch her bare skin.

But she knew what he really wanted and in a flash she had pinned his wrists above his head. She was strong, strong enough to break his forearm in two, twist his hand off his wrist like snapping a breadstick and he moaned, thrusting against her, hoping she’d leave bruises that he could look at later, press hard to feel the hurt again while he touched himself.

She fumbled open his trousers with her free hand, warm against his own overheated flesh. His cock throbbed, the callouses on her fingers rubbing rough and making him whine, groaning and panting, so desperate for her already. They were always so quick, so hurried, the post-fight adrenaline burning through her. He wanted to have her slowly some time, in a real bed, worship her whole body, or let her use him however she wished, hours of time spent showing how much he wanted her. But it would feel so much more sordid and obscene and his guilt was burning a pit in his stomach anyway, twisting up his insides, making him sick. This wasn’t supposed to be his life.

He was helpless beneath her, he let her ride him, panting above him, blonde hair slipping out of her ponytail and sticking to her face. She was beautiful, the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. She was his student, his charge, _his slayer_ , he was her watcher, he should never have let this happen. He knew, from reading generations of journals of watchers that this sort of thing had happened before, between watchers and slayers, but had never thought he’d be that kind of man. 

He had been so proud of his path, before. Even if he could never tell his family what he did, even if they had loudly expressed their disappointment when he became a lowly history teacher at an intercity high school, instead of a lawyer or a judge, or whatever else they had expected of him, at least he knew the true value of what he was doing. Protecting the people of this city, of the world, from the things they weren't equipped to deal with, being one small part of the endless war against darkness. It had felt so noble, so just. He had been so idealistic. 

He hadn’t anticipated the pain. The difficulties of a teenage girl adjusting to being a soldier, against her will, losing her normality, her innocence, unable to tell her family, for all the help that would be. When she came to him one evening, trying to hold back tears and failing, lip trembling, hands shaking in anger, fresh from another screaming fight from her mother, he had taken her in his arms and comforted her. He still marveled at his own weakness, how easily he had crumbled when she kissed his neck. 

And he was just as pathetic now, his resolve turning to dust in an instant, her hands on his skin, her thighs squeezing around him as she leaned over him, breath hot on his face, mouth tasting like peach lip gloss. He mumbled her name, a breathless whimper that he couldn’t stop from escaping. She could make him do anything, wrench any secret from his soul, force his hand in any direction and it wouldn’t even be hard. 

_“Rafael,”_ she said, low and soft, more of a whisper than anything, the barest puff of air against his skin. She called him Barba everywhere else, just like every other person and nobody called him Rafael, not even his own mother, but she did, and only like this, her hips rocking back and forth as he thrust up against her in desperation. 

That’s all it took. He cried out and came, shuddering beneath her as she squeezed his wrists hard enough to make him lose feeling in his fingertips, her hips rolling in a shuddering rhythm as she came. She collapsed on top of him, panting, the warm press of her body feeling amazing. With his hands free, he could finally hold her. He gathered her close, feeling her heart pounding in her chest, its beat matching his own. He stroked her hair, smoothing back the stray bits and tracing the curve of her neck, the lobe of her ear. She was wearing bumblebee earrings and his stomach lurched. It felt so wrong, with his softening cock sticky and pressing against her belly, her breath hot on his throat. He didn’t want to let her go.

He felt her breathing slow down, her heartbeat return to normal. She sat up, touching his face, thumb stroking his cheek. 

“I have to get back,” she said, voice still a little breathless.

He nodded mutely. _Get back, to her mother._ He felt sick. At the same time, he wanted to kiss her. Instead he pulled himself up, adjusting his clothing, watched her do the same. He got out, walked stiffly to the driver’s side door, his wrists still throbbing a bit. He wished that didn’t excite him so much.

He started the car, letting her sit in silence beside him, retying her ponytail and reapplying lip gloss. He wondered what she thought about when she got home, snuck back in her bedroom through the fire escape, washed off all the dirt and grime, told her sister some lie about where she was all night, went to sleep only to wake up in a few hours for school. He’d see her in class the next day and he wouldn’t reprimand her for nodding off during his lecture on 19th century American politics. She could be a normal girl for a few hours, until the next sundown.


	3. like a spent gladiator

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Victorian Barollins AU!!

Barba first saw her at the law offices of Benson & Stabler, head to toe in black, a widow in mourning, no doubt. She looked small and pale in black silk, but her eyes were blue and clear behind her mourning veil, her voice steady when she inquired after his interest in handling her late husband’s finances.

“He didn’t have his own lawyer?” Barba asked in confusion. It was unusual for a new widow to wait to seek legal assistance until after her husband has passed. Judging by the length of her veil, it had been at least a year since his death.

“He did,” she said. “But I didn’t trust him. I’ve heard that you’re the man to speak to if I want to keep my husband’s fortune.”

Barba nodded amicably. She was a Southern Belle, that was clear, although he knew from reputation she had lived in New York since her marriage. New Money, the late Mr. Rollins had been called. Mrs. Rollins seemed keen on acquiring his services, but he had to wonder if that would change once she heard his name.

As it transpired, it did not. Mrs. Rollins continued to smile pleasantly when he introduced himself and she offered him her hand. He gave her a gentlemanly nod in return, taking her pale fingers in his own.

“I look forward to working with you, Mr. Barba,” she said, and Barba couldn’t help but return the sentiment.

 

Mrs. Rollins proved to be an excellent client and also an exceptional companion. She was not only highly educated, but sharp and quick. Not as demure and ladylike as he imagined. She insisted on working closely with him when it came to matters of her late husband’s considerable wealth, as the future of the estate was tied so closely to her own.

“Your husband’s will was sound, Mrs. Rollins,” he told her one afternoon. “Everything is now in your name.”

“Yes, but for how long?” she said dismissively, a crease between her eyes giving away her concern.

“What do you mean?”

Mrs. Rollins was silent for a long moment, sipping her tea. She wore a black silk band around her pale neck, set with a jet cameo. Since she was in half-mourning now, and she wore a deep silk lavender dress, trimmed in black lace. Barba had long admired her taste in clothing, how beautifully and fashionably cut her dresses were, despite the restrictions due to her state of mourning. Barba was more than a little envious. He made so little at Benson & Stabler, despite their generosity in hiring him, that he couldn’t afford to waste money on expensive and fashionable clothing. 

“If you haven’t noticed, I’m still quite young and as my brother-in-law keeps reminding me, soon to be a more sought after catch than before my marriage.” There was a clear note of bitterness in her voice.

Barba didn’t speak for a moment, contemplating. It was true that whomever Mrs. Rollins married when her mourning period ended would inherent a vast fortune. The only sound in the room was the gentle tinkling of porcelain as they drank their tea.

“My brother-in-law,” Mrs. Rollins spoke up, slowly. “John, my husband’s brother, has been aggressively courting me. As much as he can, at least, although it is most improper.” Her smile was wry as she spoke. “He was always jealous of my late husband’s fortune and I believe he is determined to acquire it now that he has the chance.”

“Surely you don’t have to accept his offer,” Barba said.

“No,” Mrs. Rollins admitted. “But he will forever hound me if I can’t put a stop to it. Clearly I need to find another husband. And soon.”

Barba nodded in agreement, but he couldn’t be of much help. He didn’t move in the same circles as Mrs. Rollins and didn’t know of anyone personally who would be an appropriate suitor.

“It can’t be just anyone,” she continued, setting her teacup down on the table. “It needs to be someone I can trust. Someone who won’t try to usurp the fortune my husband devoted his life to building. Someone good with money. Someone who knows the law.”

Barba stared into his teacup, blinking. It took a moment for his brain to catch up with what she was saying so it surprised him when she laid a hand on his. His fingers twitched and he looked up at her, astonished.

“Surely you can’t be…” he started to say, but she cut him off. Women so rarely spoke to him with such boldness, and he found himself liking it.

“It would be a great benefit to us both,” she said softly.

“I have no fortune,” he blurted out. “I can barely support myself.”

“I have plenty of money,” she said. “You know that.”

Barba frowned. He wasn’t quite sure why she would want to marry him at all. He wasn’t wealthy and his family was poor immigrants, hers came from generations of wealth and privilege. She was no fool. People like him didn’t marry people like her. But then again, people like him didn’t often become lawyers either.

Furthermore, he was not a particularly warm or friendly person, as his colleagues were quick to remind him at every occasion. Mrs. Rollins seemed to enjoy his company, but he had no idea how to be a proper husband to her. He had never even imagined courting her, even though he did admire her.

“There will be a scandal,” he finally said. Her hand was still touching his, her fingers very soft and warm. She laughed.

“Oh, I don’t mind. I like scandals.”

Barba smiled, despite himself. He admired her. He admired her a great deal.

 

It wasn’t until his wedding day that Barba considered the fact that his new bride would know more about what lay in store for them than he did. They were both so consumed with arrangements, and her family had quite a lot of objections to make, not to mention the rumor mill of polite society churning endlessly. Mrs. Rollins was so eager to be married to him that Barba had very little time to consider what that would inevitably entail.

Mrs. Rollins had been married for nearly ten years and Barba had never been with a women. He was suddenly horrifically anxious for their wedding night and how he would be expected to conduct himself. This all occurred to him while sitting beside her in their wedding carriage, while she beamed at him, looping her arm through his. As a widow, she could not wear a veil and Barba preferred it. This way he could see her face. 

They had a simple noon ceremony, followed by a breakfast at his new bride’s home. It was their home now, Barba had to keep reminding himself. And she was no longer Mrs. Rollins. It was strange, hearing her answer to Mrs. Barba. When they were alone together, he would call her Amanda. He tried his best not to think too hard about it. 

Once the cakes were cut, Mrs. Barba went off with her maids of honor to change into her traveling clothes and then they were off to the train station and their honeymoon. Barba had been excited to plan their first month of married life, he had done so little traveling in his life and he would be able to spend so much time with his new wife. He was filled with trepidation, however, when they arrived at their hotel. It was late in the evening and Barba was exhausted. Mrs. Barba had slept most of the journey, her arm threaded loosely through his. He was still unused to such casual physical contact.

Soon, Barba found himself alone in their rooms with his wife. She smiled sweetly and touched his arm.

“Here we are,” she said, removing her gloves as he surveyed the rooms. They were lovely and comfortable. Barba was still not used to be surrounded in such wealth, to call it his own. 

Mrs. Barba wore a spring green dress with voluminous tulle skirts. The pink sash around her middle made her waist seem even smaller. Barba wore a new frock coat with a starched white collar underneath. He had found special pleasure in ordering a new set of suits for their honeymoon and Mrs. Barba had encouraged him to spend without care for the cost, a luxury that Barba had never been afforded before.

Barba was still admiring their living arrangements for the next few weeks when he felt a small hand on his arm again. Mrs. Barba had removed her bonnet. Her sleek blonde head drew closer and then she was kissing him, lightly, on the mouth.

“I’m fatigued,” she said softly, drawing back only a hair’s breadth. “Shall we retire?”

Barba fidgeted a moment and then nodded. She was close enough that he could feel the heat from her body.

In the bedroom, the sumptuous bed stood out, huge and intimidating. Barba removed his coat and then turned around, finding Mrs. Barba right in front of him, reaching out to unbutton his collar and remove his cravat. Her fingers were quick and nimble and did not shake at all. Barba allowed her to continue undressing him, fearing he would fumble and embarrass himself if he tried to aid her.

He had had a chance, once, to bed a woman, when he was still in law school. He had visited a brothel with his classmates but the prostitutes had only made him sad, with their cheap clothes and makeup and the obviously sorry states of their lives. He had had no desire to buy anyone’s services and he had never even seen himself getting married until Mrs. Barba had proposed to him. 

Meanwhile, her soft little fingers were pulling at the buttons on his trousers. 

“Please,” he faltered, suddenly overcome with nerves.

“It’s alright,” she said gently, clasping his hands in hers. She led him to the bed. Barba followed her dutifully. 

“You need to help me undress,” she said. Barba swallowed, trying to get a handle on his nerves.

He reached out, pushing aside the hair at the back of her neck to find the little silk buttons that ran all the way up her spine. His hands shook only slightly as he plucked them free, revealing an expanse of pale, naked skin. Mrs. Barba stood up and stepped out of her dress, setting it aside before pulling her corset cover over her head. The hard lines of her ribbed corset were now bared to him as well as her many petticoats. She untied the fastenings holding her skirts up and then they were falling down, revealing her drawers and her silk stockings underneath. Barba’s mouth was very dry.

Mrs. Barba – and it was getting harder to call her that the more clothing she lost – turned around again and bid him untie her laces. Barba’s hands trembled more and more as he worked open her corset. Her white chemise underneath was wrinkled from the hard press of wearing the constricting garment all day and he could see the natural outline of her breasts.

Mrs. Barba – no, Amanda – turned to him and kissed him again on the mouth, much less chastely than before. She opened her mouth and Barba felt her hot tongue trace his lips. He moaned, just barely, and cupped her cheek. He felt her push gently at his shoulders, guiding him to sit down on the bed. Barba complied, already missing the warmth of her mouth. He watched her unpin her hair, letting her long blonde locks tumble down around her face.

Amanda pulled back the covers of the bed, pulling his hand to urge him closer. Barba removed his trousers and slid under the covers beside her as she pulled him close. She was deliciously warm and her hand pushed into his hair as she kissed him again. Barba followed her lead, letting her mouth control him, feeling moans rise in his throat as she kissed him deeper. Her body was pressing close against his and he blushed, embarrassed at his sudden reaction.

She pulled back, smiling sweet as ever. She traced a hand over his face, her thumb grazing his lower lip which felt swollen from her kisses.

“That’s meant to happen,” she said gently and he supposed that she was right.

Still, he was unprepared for her to remove her chemise and bare herself to him. She was lovely and pale, nothing like the sordid illustration he had seen his classmates pour over in his school days, only because she was real and so much more beautiful. Strands of blonde hair fell over her chest and she brushed them aside, her nipples so pink and flushed with color that Barba felt embarrassed looking at them, but also like he could never look away. Amanda took his hand and guided it to her breast, letting him feel her. He made a sound somewhere between a gasp and moan. She was warm, almost hot, and he felt her nipple harden against his palm.

Amanda kissed him again, still holding his hand on her breast. Barba cupped it, feeling the shape, then moved over her ribs, wanting to touch more of her. He stroked her belly and watched as she laid back and pushed off her drawers. She wore only her silk stocking, which ended around mid-thigh. Barba’s groin tightened as she directed his hand to touch her between her legs. Among soft hair she was warm and damp and she moaned into his mouth as he touched her.

Impatiently, Amanda pushed his hand away and tugged at his undershirt, pulling it off. Barba simply let her undress him completely, blushing hard at his erection, an obscene sight beside the clean white sheets. Amanda touched him firmly, stroking his length and kissing his neck, which made him groan and thrust into her hand.

Barba was trembling. He was just wondering how he was going to work up the coordination to roll on top of her and perform his husbandly duties when Amanda surprised him. She spring up and sat astride his hips, her hair falling down around her face. Barba hissed as her thighs brushed his sensitive prick. She leaned over him, her hands sliding over his chest, and kissed him hard on the mouth. He responded in kind, trying to kiss her just as deeply.

When he felt her warm wetness touch the head of his prick, Barba gasped. She went slowly, lowering herself and biting her lip. Her face was glowing with a warm, pink flush and she looked so beautiful that Barba wanted to pull her close and kiss her, but he let her set the pace, the overwhelming feeling of her slick heat making him whimper and pant. He felt her blunt nails scrape over his chest as she pushed him all the way inside her, the sweet moans rising from her throat making his chest tighten.

Barba stared up at her in amazement as she rolled her hips, their shared pleasure like lightning pulsing through him. He couldn’t help but grab hold of her thighs, pushing down her stocking to feel her bare skin. She worked herself over him and then changed the angle and bent over him, moving all the while. She kissed his face and his neck, whispering endearments and praise. Hearing his Christian name on her lips made his chest tighten hotly.

“Amanda – ah – Amanda,” he muttered back, over and over as her hips rocked back and forth.

He wanted the feeling to last forever, her slick tightness, the heat of her body, her increasingly sloppy kisses. But he was wound so tight that he knew it would be over soon and he wanted to beg her to slow down, to let him revel in the feeling for a few moments longer, but he couldn’t get the words out. All he could do was gasp her name and moan incoherently, his hands digging into her soft thighs. All too soon he reached his climax, shuddering and groaning as he clung to her. Barba lay there panting, feeling the tension drain out of him as Amanda softly kissed his forehead, smoothing back his hair.

Barba raised a hand and touched her face, drawing her closer as she slid off him, lying beside him under the covers. She was exquisitely warm and soft and he pulled her snugly against him, burying his face in her silky hair. He felt perfectly content and a warm glow of affection consumed him as he held Amanda in his arms.

“Goodnight, Rafael,” she said, slightly muffled against his chest.

“Goodnight, Amanda,” he replied.


	4. goddamn these bitemarks, deep in my arteries

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “So,” Barba said slowly. “Some guy known for biting girls on the neck bit you and now you want to suck my blood.”
> 
> “Don’t you dare say the v-word,” Rollins said firmly.

Rollins was hungry. But nothing she did seemed to help. She had woken up with a pounding headache and it hadn’t gone away, no matter how much water or Advil she threw back. She had tried eating a dozen different things, cereal, a bagel, chips from the vending machine, anything she could get her hands on, but nothing was satisfying. Everything tasted like cardboard. It was maddening. 

She felt dizzy, fatigued, aching, like she’d had a hard night of drinking. All that had happened was a late night spent collaring a perp with a thing for biting girls when he groped them, and yeah, he had taken a little piece out of Rollins too, but she was fine. He had spit a mouthful of blood in her face after she tackled him to the ground and busted his lip on the pavement but all his moaning about police brutality fell on deaf ears. Benson had been insistent she go to the hospital to get herself checked out and Rollins had totally been planning on it, but by the time they finished booking him and everything, she was dead tired and just wanted a shower and bed. She had been feeling woozy and strange even then but chalked it up to too much overtime.

“You OK, Rollins?” Carisi said for about the twentieth time.

Rollins nodded, not really looking at him. She felt her stomach clench, the familiar pangs of deep hunger, but every time she tried to nibble on a cheeto it just tasted like dirt. Not that cheetos were ever high on her list of snacking material, but she was starving. It should have tasted like ambrosia, but instead absolutely nothing tasted like food. It was driving her insane.

It wasn’t just the hunger, either. Her body felt strangely cold, even though the weather had gotten warmer and it didn’t seem to be chilly inside the squad room. Everyone else looked comfortable. Even stranger, the coldness didn’t bother her. She didn’t feel the need to bundle up. 

She took another long guzzle from her water bottler, the only thing that she could ingest without wanting to spit it back out. It wasn’t helping at all, but she still wanted to be doing something, feeling helpless in the face of her predicament. 

“Rollins? ROLLINS!” 

Rollins whipped around. She hadn’t even heard Fin calling her name until he was practically screaming it.

“Hi, what? Sorry.”

He gave her one of his low key concerned looks that other people might not pick up on but Rollins had learned to recognize.

“I’m fine,” she said before he could even ask. He didn’t look convinced. Carisi was looking over the edge of his laptop at her. She wanted to roll her eyes. _“I’m fine.”_

“We should check in with Barba, get these witness statements straightened out,” Fin said shortly.

Rollins sighed, relieved at the change in subject.

“Yeah, OK.”

It felt good to get up and walk around. She was getting jumpy, her skin too tight for her body, itching to stop sitting still. Fin kept throwing her odd looks. It was unnerving.

At Barba’s office, Rollins could barely pay attention. She knew something very important was being discussed and she should probably contribute, but she just couldn’t focus. There were cotton balls stuck in her ears and vaseline rubbed on her eyes. Her body felt empty, craving something she couldn’t name. Her organs felt like they were digesting themselves, churning and groaning and agonizing.

“Oh, dammit.”

Something in the air shifted. An overpowering smell hit Rollins all at once, a smell so potent and alluring that her mouth instantly watered, her eyes flew open and her whole body tingled. She couldn’t place it at first, but it was hot and salty, almost metallic, so delicious that she could feel her stomach clench with desire. 

She looked over at Barba. He was sucking on his finger and she realized quite suddenly that he had a paper cut. And he was bleeding. She was smelling his blood. She licked her lips. All the cotton balls and vaseline had vanished and now the opposite was true, all her senses were insanely sharp and clear. She could not only smell his blood like it was the only scent in the room, but she could hear it, his heart beating as it pushed a little trickle out the slice in his skin. It was in his mouth. She could practically taste it in his mouth, on his teeth. 

Rollins blinked, dazed. Dimly, she registered that Fin was calling her name again. She nodded mutely, not trusting herself to open her mouth and let sound come out. Both Fin and Barba were giving her weird looks but Rollins could do nothing more than follow Fin out the door, clinging hard to the last traces of her normalcy.

In the hallway, Fin was trying to talk to her but Rollins wasn’t listening. She couldn’t focus on his words no matter how hard she tried. Her head was still in Barba’s office with his bleeding finger.

“’Scuse me,” she muttered and turned around, ostensibly headed for the bathroom. She could hear Fin behind her, pulling out his phone. He was probably telling Benson that she had finally lost her mind, but Rollins didn’t care. She was practically jogging back to Barba’s office.

She pushed her way in without even knocking and Barba rose slowly from his chair, looking confused. His finger had stopped bleeding, she could smell it in the air. But the blood on his skin was still fresh.

“Rollins, what –“ Barba began to say, but his voice quickly died in his throat as she grabbed his hand and wrapped her mouth around his finger.

Rollins couldn’t stop the moan from rising in her throat as she sucked, her tongue grazing the shallow cut and feeling it open again, a fresh little drop of blood falling on her tongue. It was the best, most delicious taste she’d ever tasted and she couldn’t get enough. She held his wrist firmly in place as she licked his whole digit. Her tongue swept over the sensitive pad of his fingertip and she heard the breath catch in his throat. 

Rollins finally glanced up at him, making eye contact for the first time. He was bright red, his mouth hanging open slightly, confusion and arousal and a little fear coloring his expression. Rollins could feel his heart beating hard. Only then did she realize how wet she was, how her whole body was throbbing, the physical hunger and the tingling in her groin combined into one aching need. 

Without thinking about what she was doing, all thoughts consumed with hunger, she pushed him back and he went easily, sitting heavily in his chair and strangely not protesting as she climbed in his lap. Rollins straddled his thigh and moaned, grinding against him and hearing the smallest gasp, barely audible, but loud enough for her ears. She leaned into him, finding his throat and nuzzling the smooth skin with her nose. She could smell the blood under his skin, hot and delicious and pulsing through thin delicate veins. She opened her mouth, wanting to taste him again. His skin felt hot and fevered, maybe because she herself was so cold. She traced the line of one of his veins with her tongue, feeling it throb and tremble deliciously. She laid her teeth against his throat, and she could imagine biting down, tearing easily through the delicate skin and feeling his hot blood pour onto her tongue. She froze all at once, shaking.

Barba was breathing raggedly beneath her, his chest heaving as he panted. She realized quite abruptly that he was aroused, not because she could feel it but because she could hear his blood as it rushed through his body, glowing on his face, pounding thickly through his heart, pooling in his groin, making him hard. Rollins pulled back, suddenly very aware of where they were.

“I’m sorry,” she said, still shaking. Her head was pounding worse than before, and now she knew how to assuage it, but she couldn’t. She _couldn’t._ “I’m sorry.”

She stood up, stumbling drunkenly and trying not to look at him. She staggered out the door dizzily, every atom in her body urging her to turn back. Blindly, Rollins managed to find the bathroom by memory alone and once she was inside, enclosed in a stall, Rollins leaned against the door heavily. She was panting, her body was still tingling, almost stinging and she licked her lips, hoping for a barest trace of blood still there to taste. She groaned in frustration, touching herself through her pants and shuddering. 

There was something wrong with her. Something very wrong. Rollins managed to calm herself down enough to be seen in public and walked out, unsure what to do. She couldn’t imagine going back to the squad room, but she would certainly be missed. Fin was already concerned about her strange behavior and now she had done something even weirder. She took a deep breath, calming herself.

Fin was still waiting for her outside, leaning against the squad car.

“You good?” he said.

Rollins nodded, not daring to elaborate. Hopefully he’d just think she was puking her guts out or something. 

Back in the squad room, Rollins kept her head down, not even trying to nibble on snack food anymore. Every second she expected Benson to call her in to her office and ask why she had sexually assaulted their ADA, but nothing happened. Her phone was buzzing almost constantly though and every time she glanced down and saw Barba’s name flash across the screen she just ignored it. She had no idea what to say to him. The rest of the squad seemed content to leave her on desk duty for the rest of the day and Rollins didn’t complain. She was counting down the minutes until she could leave and hide her face forever.

When the time came, she was packing up her stuff with five minutes left on the clock. Never had she been so eager to get home. She was hauling ass to get to the elevator when she practically ran right into someone in the hall. Barba. Rollins froze.

He looked surprised to see her too, or maybe just at the way she had practically body slammed him. His eyes were wide, the barest trace of alarm in his expression.

“Rollins,” he said, quickly recovering his bearings. “You’ve been dodging my calls.”

“Hmm,” Rollins mumbled, knowing there was no point in denying it but really not wanting to discuss it with him. “Sorry. Again. About earlier. I really don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

She couldn’t look him in the eye. Instead, her eyes fell to around his shirt collar. Bad idea. She watched him swallow, the blue vein in his throat standing out. She could hear the blood pumping through it. She closed her eyes, trying to steady herself.

“That’s what I wanted to talk about,” he said and his voice seemed to come to her from a long way away. “You aren’t acting like yourself. If there’s something wrong, if something happened…”

“Nothing happened,” she said quickly, voice cracking. “Except some psycho bit me, but that has happened before, believe it or not, so –“

“Someone bit you?” Barba asked, worry and confusion evident in his voice. “Where?”

Rollins held out her arm where the freak had taken a bite out of her.

“The same creep who was groping drunk girls on their way home,” she said. “I tackled him and –“

“Yeah, I remember,” said Barba and Rollins considered that that’s what he and Fin had probably been talking about earlier that day. To be fair, Rollins had not been paying any attention. “It healed fast,” he continued, holding her arm gently.

Rollins swallowed thickly; his fingers were alarmingly warm on her skin. Like he had a fever. Or maybe she was just that cold.

“So,” he said slowly, still touching her arm. “Some guy known for biting girls on the neck bit you and now you want to suck my blood.”

“Don’t you dare say the v-word,” Rollins said firmly. “How’s your finger?” Barba looked up at her, his cheeks pink. Rollins could feel that too, the blood rushing to his face. Her lips twitched.

Barba held up his hand with a half-hearted smile.

“It’s fine,” he said. “Just a paper cut.”

Rollins reached out slow as she could make herself move and took his wrist in her hand again. She brought his finger slowly to her mouth and she heard his breath hitch, his heartbeat quicken, his blood rushing downward. She only grazed her lips against him at first, deliberately trying to control herself. Her tongue flicked out, so briefly, to taste the sweet, coppery flavor still lingering on his skin and the tease of it made her groan. Barba was staring at her open-mouthed, his pupils dilated, eyes wide. She turned his hand over gently, laying a wet kiss on his wrist, feeling his pulse jump against her tongue.

“Uh, Rollins,” she hear him mutter and she pulled back, her head swimming. “This is a little – uh – public, don’t you think?”

Public, right.

“My place is closer,” she said firmly, although she wasn’t entirely sure where he lived. Either way he didn’t object, he just pulled his hand back and tightened his grip on his briefcase, smoothing his tie. It was red today, a bright, screaming scarlet. “Let’s go.”

 

The cab ride was torture. Rollins hadn’t been so horny in her entire life. Barba kept pushing her back slightly, probably because whatever they were doing was in plain view of the cabbie, but she couldn’t help it. Barba smelled amazing, his expensive cologne and the product in his hair and sweat gathering on his hairline, the blood pulsing under his skin, so close to her mouth but impossible to reach. It was maddening and she pulled at his clothes impatiently.

“You know,” she said, kissing his neck, trying so hard not to bite down that her jaw ached. “That perp who bit me? He also spit blood in my face.”

“Hmm?” Barba mumbled, his hands twitching as she ran her fingers down the length of his tie.

“Just saying, I promise not to bleed on you,” she said, hoping he’d get the hint, her teeth scraping his jaw. Barba exhaled heavily.

Rollins groaned in irritation and grabbed his hand, feeling the thickness of his wrist, and pushed it down the front of her pants. His broad fingers brushed the outside of her panties and she moaned into his ear, hearing his breath quicken, a strangled little gasp in his throat. She arched into his hand, needing more.

The cab had stopped. The cabbie was glaring at them in exasperation. Barba’s face was beet red, but Rollins could only feel disappointment when he pulled his hand away, fishing out his wallet with trembling fingers.

 

The second the door clicked behind them, she had him pressed against the wall. Barba groaned, clinging to her, finally kissing her the way he must have been aching to because there was more than a hint of desperation in the way he held her head still, thrusting his tongue into her mouth. Rollins pushed eagerly against him, his feverishly hot body feeling so good against her that she craved more.

Rollins kissed him back, harder, her teeth sinking into the skin of his lower lip. Barba groaned and then yelped as she broke the skin but she couldn’t stop, not when blood was filling her mouth, the taste so rich and overwhelming that she sucked deeply, holding him still against the wall as she lapped at the cut. It tasted better than chocolate, better than ice cream, better than winning big on a risky bet, better than any sex she’d ever had and speaking of which…

She pulled back, tugging forcefully on his tie with one hand while she shrugged out of her coat with the other. She was wet and her nipples were tight and tingling, she needed to feel his body against her, skin on skin. Barba was looking dazed, a little spooked, but he wasn’t running, not when she backed away, pulling her shirt off and unbuckling her pants.

In fact, he followed her to the couch, unbuttoning his vest and folding it carefully on a chair, slipping his suspenders off his shoulders. Rollins grabbed his loose tie impatiently, pushing him forcefully down on the couch. Barba grunted as he hit the cushions hard and Rollins wasted no time in shoving her pants down and climbing in his lap. Barba groaned deeply, thrusting into her hand as she groped him through his trousers. She kissed his neck again, tugging his shirt collar aside and sliding off his tie completely. Her teeth grazed his throat and it was a struggle not to bite down, the tease of his blood already in her mouth and the thrum of his pulse beating wildly against her tongue driving her wild. She pulled away, licked gently at the bite on his red and swollen lip. He whined softly in his throat, hips rocking minutely against hers.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” she said softly, voice trembling with the effort of holding back.

“It’s OK,” Barba said breathily, his voice just as unsteady. “I – I trust you.”

Rollins wasn’t entirely sure that was wise of him, but she wasn’t going to argue with him now. Her mouth returned eagerly to the curve of his throat and Barba let his head fall back, baring himself to her. Rollins ground her crotch against his hard-on, her arousal spiking with every second. Her teeth pressed against the delicate barrier, easing into a hard bite, breaching the skin so slowly that Barba’s little gasps of pain came in short spurts. She held back, not wanting to bite too deep, stopping as soon as she felt the blood flow over her tongue. Barba whimpered, squirming beneath her, and Rollins held him still by the shoulders, not sucking this time but gently lapping at the blood beading on the surface of his skin, letting it come naturally, even as she rolled her hips against him, so aroused that it was driving her insane.

Barba seemed to adjust quickly, and she felt him unbutton his trousers, push them down far enough to get his cock out and then he was pushing her panties aside and sliding into her. Rollins gasped against his throat, thrusting him deeper inside her. She kept licking, wanting more and more but trying to restrain herself. Barba was fucking her best he could, holding her hips firmly as he rocked into her. She bounced in time with his thrusts, moaning desperately because she had been on edge all goddamn day and now that he was inside her and his blood was filling her mouth, making her feel warm for the first time since that freak bit her, it didn’t take much for her to come, shaking and sobbing into his neck. She felt his hips still, but he was panting, still hard inside her.

“Don’t stop,” she muttered weakly in his ear. Barba groaned, moving inside her again.

His thrusts became quicker, more purposeful, and his hands were shaking as he gripped her hips. Rollins, who had sagged against him briefly, latched her mouth onto his neck again, her tongue grazing the torn skin on his throat and shuddering. The lacy edge of her panties rubbed against her clit with every thrust and Barba was squeezing her ass, groaning now as he fucked her. When she came again, jerking against him, unable to make a sound, her teeth sunk into his throat where she had bit him, a fresh spurt of blood filled her mouth and Barba came too, gasps of pleasure and pain mingled together as he shuddered beneath her.

For the next few minutes, Rollins couldn’t do anything but lazily lick at the bite mark, the blood flow trickling to a standstill. She no longer felt the insatiable desire that had tortured her the entire day, and it was amazing to feel close to normal again. As normal as she could feel licking blood off of Barba’s neck after fucking him on the couch.

Rollins lifted her head to look at him. He looked completely wrecked and worryingly pale, covered in a faint sheen of sweat.

“Barba?” she said tentatively, tapping his cheek. “You still with me?”

Barba nodded shakily.

“Y-yeah,” he managed and smiled weakly when Rollins didn’t look convinced.

“Let me get you a band-aid,” she said lamely.


End file.
